


Funny

by Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)



Series: The Young Ones - Love & Mobsters [2]
Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Fondling, Funny, Gross, M/M, Slash, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/pseuds/Mercury%20Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timeline: August 1984</p><p>Vyvyan discovers Rick's been thinking about him, the way he's been thinking about Rick.</p><p>Can be read as a stand-alone fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Funny

The morning started out as usual as any other. Mike sat at the head of the table, reading his paper (or perhaps pretending to read it. None of the other guys knew, nor did they really care). Rick sat next to him, scraping his fork across an empty plate with one hand (and making an extraordinarily terrible noise doing it) while scribbling into his notebook with the other. There was a horrible mixture of dried snot, blood, and what had once been marmalade (but could now only be described as 'green') smeared across the lower cupboards, and Neil was attempting to remove it with a paint scraper – he was having very little success. Vyvyan watched him, perched backwards on the back of the sofa and offering words of discouragement.

"You've missed a spot, Neil. Several, actually. And hurry it up, I expect breakfast in no later than ten seconds."

"Just give me a moment, Vyv," Neil answered, putting more elbow grease into it, "I swear I'll get started just after I can get this cupboard open – whatever this stuff is, it sort-of glued the door shut."

"It better have," said Vyvyan, "I worked all night getting just the right stickiness."

Rick sat dejected with his chin in his hand and sighed loudly. Sometimes he glanced around at the others for signs proper attention was being paid to him. Occasionally he looked in Vyvyan's direction, pretending to scribble, but leering over at him instead, flushing a little as he did so.

This was a familiar pattern of late.

_"What're you looking at me like that for?" Vyvyan scowls at him, ready to punch at the first provocation._

_Rick reddens and looks away quickly, "Sorry, I thought I saw a bug or something."_

_Vyvyan swipes at his shoulder and walks away. Rick puts his head in his hands and sighs. That was close._

_He'd been looking at the subtle curve of Vyvyan's neck, just as it leaves his hairline and swoops into the collar of his t-shirt. It looked soft. He'd had to physically restrain himself from touching it. He'd wanted to kiss it._

He couldn't pretend it wasn't happening anymore. It was becoming apparent to Rick that his longstanding (and only recently self-acknowledged) attraction to Vyvyan was shifting to obsession.

_"Don't you have your bloody ridiculous rally nonsense tonight? Something about that death row bloke in the States?"_

_"Hm? Oh, I decided not to go. I think he's probably guilty, anyway."_

_"Bully for me."_

_"Oh, sarcasm's nice!"_

_Vyvyan smiles, "It is, isn't it?"_

_Rick crosses his arms in irritation and goes back to watching telly. He does want to go to the rally, he'd been planning it for a while. But now he finds he'd rather stay home and watch television with Vyvyan. Sit next to him for a few hours, savor that moment when their forearms will touch and neither will pull away. Eventually, he falls asleep on Vyvyan's shoulder. Vyvyan lets him until he starts to drool, at which point he smacks the hell out of him and goes to bed._

_The sting lingers on Rick's face and he savors that too, closing his eyes and preserving the feeling with a cupped hand._

Yes, obsession was probably the right word for it. He'd memorized Vyvyan's routine (difficult to do for someone who embodied chaos) and made it a point to be in the same room at the same time whenever he could. He dreamed about him nightly, and often woke up with sticky sheets. Even now, the furtive glances he stole were at Vyvyan's legs dangling over the back of the sofa – he was trying hard not to think how sexy he looked in boots.

Some days, just some days, (though if you asked, he would surely have been offended) he would be obnoxious on purpose just so Vyvyan would talk to him.

He looked around to see if anyone noticed his forlorn sigh. No one did. He sighed again, and leaned toward Mike to elicit a response. Mike flipped the pages of his paper and said nothing. Rick dropped his hand and said, "Well, I don't know about you all, but I'm having a terrible morning." There was no response. Rick got louder.

"Just terrible. Tossed and turned all night, thinking...you know, about the oppression of the kids and how I could destroy Thatcher's regime and bring peace to the people." In reality, he'd spent the night thinking about the way Vyvyan's muscles flexed when he swung a sledgehammer, and trying to distract himself from this thought by wanking. Repeatedly.

Rick stood up and put his hands on his hips, "Right, why is everyone ignoring me?"

Everyone ignored him.

Rick stood on the table, "Everybody pay attention to me! I've got something important to say!"

No one looked at him. Vyvyan got up to kick the cupboard open. Neil fished through the sink, trying to find a pot without so much mold on it.

Rick waved his arms, "Right, anyone who ignores me is a virgin! A spotty, ugly virgin! Ha, got you there, haven't I?" He nodded in agreement with himself. Still nothing from anyone else.

Rick stomped his foot, causing Mike's tea to spill into his lap. Mike jumped away from the scalding water and shook his trouser legs. Vyvyan gave up with the cupboard and started kicking Neil. Neil tried to take his mind off the pain through deep breathing and mantra. No one acknowledged Rick.

"This is ridiculous! Have you all formed a conspiracy or something? 'Oh ha ha, let's all pretend like Rick isn't here, then maybe he'll just go away, ha ha ha.' Is that it?"

"That's the idea, Rick," Mike said absently, still brushing the tea off his trousers.

"Aw Mike, you've ruined it!" Neil said from the floor.

"Yeah! Why'd you have to go and say something to him?" Vyvyan called over his shoulder, very intent on teaching Neil about consequences by kicking the hell out of his ribs, "Now we've got to start all over!"

"I understand that, Vyvyan, but I was a bit distracted on account of my lap being on fire," Mike said, gesturing to his soaking wet crotch.

"Wait...what?" Rick's face fell and he stepped off the table.

Vyvyan stopped kicking Neil abruptly and headed upstairs.

"No, wait," Rick called after him, "What do you mean 'start over'?"

Neil stood up, brushed himself off, and went out into the garden, muttering his goodbyes to the world as he went.

"Okay, ha ha, joke's over, we really had Rick on, time to stop now!" Rick said to the back door as it closed.

Mike folded his paper under his arm, put on his sunglasses, and headed for the front door.

"Wait! You can't all just – " Rick called after Mike as the door slammed.

"Well fine!" he yelled to the empty room, "I suppose you all think you're really funny. Well, I'll tell you something, I've got my eye on you, you bastards! I've got all your numbers now, and I'LL MAKE YOU SORRY YOU EVER MET ME!"

"TOO LATE, YOU GIRLY BASTARD!"

Rick rushed over to the hallway and glared up the stairs.

"YOU HAD BETTER NOT BE UP THERE LOOKING FOR MY DIARY AGAIN, VYVYAN!"

With that, he flopped onto the couch and settled in for a good, long pout.

****

**_Wednesday, 7 March_ **

_Neil taking too long in the bathroom again. Must remember to ~~nick~~ find a padlock for the bathroom door – that'll show them, eh? Forcing them to come to me whenever they need a piss? Brilliant._

Boring. Vyvyan flipped forward a few pages, hoping to find something embarrassing enough to publish.

**_Friday, 23 March_ **

_Was thoroughly disappointed in the lack of enthusiasm shown by my appalling housemates after unveiling my latest work entitled, "Thatcher, You Nasty Ratcatcher"_

_Note: Tried "Dispatcher" at first, but rhymed "lorry" with "Tory" in my last work entitled, "Thatcher Drives Country off Cliff, Film at Eleven" and didn't want to repeat, although the rhyme is brilliant and is sure to make an appearance in future..._

Boring, boring, boring - wait. His own name caught his eye, and he flipped back to an undated page.

_Vyvyan Basterd._  
_Vyvyan! Bastard!_  
_O, but your blows_  
_to the side of my nose_  
_inspire in me,_  
_strange poetry._  
_Fascist!!_  
_Eyes of blue_  
_that sparkle – true,_  
_your beauty through_  
_your ugly grin._  
_I see you, Vyvyan!_  
_I see you!! When_  
_you throw that sofa at my head_  
_I hope that you don't want me dead_  
~~_I hope you'd like to snog instead_ ~~

Although the last line was crossed out multiple times, it was plainly visible. Vyvyan blinked, then smiled. Then frowned. Then smiled wider.

Then stood up, tore the page out, and walked out the door, tossing the diary behind him as he left.

Vyvyan lay on his own bed and stared at the scrawled poem in front of him. Sometimes he stared right through it. Occasionally he laughed to himself.

Funny.

Funny because Vyvyan thought he was the one holding the torch (quite literally at times; last week he'd beaten Rick over the head with a torch). Tormenting Rick was a joy, not only because the stupid prat was so easy to torment, but because he was bloody _gorgeous_ when he got upset. His cheeks flushed, and his too-big eyes glowed, and that sneer, that scrunch-nosed little sneer of condescension was – well, it was disgustingly adorable was what it was. It made him want to smash the bastard's head in. And it made the bottom of his stomach drop out and his skin go all hot and cold at once. It was difficult to resist shagging the little prick right there on the kitchen table sometimes.

He'd come to terms with his (as-yet untested, or at least poorly tested) sexuality years ago. He'd known he was bisexual since he was twelve, when his first kiss that mattered was with a handsome upperclassman who later denied Vyvyan's existence and won himself a scalp full of gravel he was probably still picking out of his skull. His initial impression of Rick was that he was young for his age, innocent, a bit of a mess, but pretty in a scrawny, schoolboy way. Then he'd opened his bloody mouth and Vyvyan had spent the past few years trying to shut it so he could enjoy the view without the noise pollution. Rick wasn't irritating, he was the most irritating thing in the entire known universe, and for a long time it was puzzling to Vyvyan why he still felt so attracted to him.

He could only think how Rick reminded him of a lost puppy. He was so bloody naïve and sheltered, vulnerable and completely unprepared for the world around him. And he had this sort-of innate inability to reconcile it, as though he were genetically predisposed to being a juvenile, self-righteous twat. He would never survive the real world - had they been switched at birth, Vyvyan felt sure Rick would have killed himself years ago, whether by choice or sheer stupidity. He hated him for it. He hated Rick's hypocritical, faux-liberal crap. He hated his obnoxious, loud, boring poetry readings and meandering, meaningless speeches. He hated his inability to shut his fucking face for two fucking seconds. At the same time, he was attracted to it, all of it, in a way he had never been with anyone before.

Because it was this naïve stupidity, combined with the eyes and the sneer and the way Rick smiled when he was genuinely excited about something and so many other little things, which culminated in an overwhelming (and rather disgustingly romantic) desire to scoop Rick into his arms and protect him from the world. And that anyone could ever make him feel that way about anything, but especially about a sanctimonious fuckwit like Rick, made him want to grind Rick's bones into a fine powder with his bare fists. The conflict was clear to him, and rather than resolve it, he'd chosen long ago to just let it coexist with itself or kill Rick trying.

But now this, by Rick's own hand. Now he had evidence to back up the sideways glances and longing stares and deep, wistful sighs.

He knew he didn't dare show his attraction, there in front of everyone. Not only was he fairly sure the others would kick him out for being a poof, but he didn't dare make himself so vulnerable as to admit affection to anyone, certainly not Rick. His head was far too big to begin with.

'Besides,' he thought, 'people don't fancy my lot, do they?'

He knew from long experience that he was essentially unlovable. His own mother went out for a pack of fags one day and never came back, and he thought he was probably eight then. ("Be good you little bugger," she'd said, winking at him and wiggling her fingers, "And lay off my Babycham." It was the last thing she ever said to him. He wasn't, and he didn't.)

His teachers always hated him (though somehow, he'd made it into university all right. He was sure he'd advanced only so they could get rid of him, though he was wrong – he'd advanced because he was smart enough to pass his exams without studying, and his grades were a reflection on his terrible attendance and criminal behavior), the other street kids hated him, his friends hated him (and he hated them right back), even SPG seemed to have it out for him; he had long grown accustomed to unrequited love.

'I always thought the stupid bastard would be sick all over me if I ever so much as said anything.'

Vyvyan frowned again, irritated at such Neil-like thoughts. He never liked dwelling on the negative; he tended to avoid acknowledging his negative emotions (other than anger, of course) altogether, in fact. And yet there it was, keeping him from showing his true affections. The poem proved he had a shot, so why wasn't he making a move? Why hadn't he made one already? Could it all really boil down to childish insecurity? Simply too shy to open himself up to rejection by the world's biggest twit?

Bollocks to that. Utter bollocks. He was Vyvyan bloody Basterd. Vyvyan Basterd was _not_ shy. He refused to be shy, shat on the very idea of shyness. He would bloody well prove he wasn't shy.

Vyvyan leapt off the bed, threw open the door and rushed down the stairs, where Rick sat alone in front of the blaring television. He stepped over the back of the sofa, sat down, turned Rick at the shoulders, grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him soundly before he could say a word of protest.

"Mmmpph!" Rick said anyway, eyes bulging with shock. When Vyvyan didn't let up, Rick gave in and leaned into the kiss, closing his eyes and flailing his one free hand (the other firmly wedged underneath Vyvyan at a very uncomfortable angle). The thrashing hand finally settled on the back of Vyvyan's neck, just as Vyvyan leaned further forward, pressing his captive housemate against the arm of the sofa. One hand tore Rick's shirt out of his trousers, slid inside his shirt and wrapped around his side, squeezing so hard Rick thought his ribs would bruise. The other caressed the side of his face ( _caressed_ it, Rick didn't know Vyvyan was capable of caressing _anything_ ), squeezed the back of his neck a little too hard, dug into his shoulder.

Being kissed by Vyvyan was a little frightening, but it was certainly pleasurable. His lips were surprisingly soft for someone who enjoyed caulking and plaster as an afternoon snack. He pulled away and looked Rick square in the eyes. His eyes swam with lust; Rick's the same, alongside surprise and confusion.

"Vyvyan, what, ahh-"

Vyvyan dove again, cutting Rick off as he licked a trail from his collarbone to his ear. Rick gave a kind of combination moan and squeal and screwed his eyes shut, wrapping his free arm around Vyvyan's writhing body. His brain had nearly shut down, engrossed in sensations he had never before experienced.

"More," Rick whispered, breath hot on his seducer's ear, "I want – oooh _god_ yes!" He got louder as Vyvyan bit his neck; not too hard, but just right.

God, not Cliff, Vyvyan noticed. First time he'd ever heard Rick use that particular word without immediately following it with "-loving fascists".

"Am I your god now, Rick?" he asked, grinning a mile wide and twisting Rick's nipple for emphasis. The idea was making him hard, and he eased his own zipper down to release the pressure.

"Nnngh, yes," Rick said almost inaudibly. Vyvyan snaked a hand into Rick's trousers with more ease than might be expected from someone who had never snaked a hand into anyone's trousers, other than the occasional pocket.

"What was that?" he whispered as he traced his thumb along the head of Rick's cock through his y-fronts. Rick bucked against his hand and his big, blue eyes screwed shut again. Vyvyan licked his earlobe and bit, just enough.

"Yes! YES!"

"Hey, guys?"

Neil's voice startled the two apart immediately – Vyvyan launched himself away from Rick with enough force to shove the sofa across the room, past Neil, and into the hallway. He stood, looking awkward, and hoping very much that Neil wouldn't notice his open fly.

"Yes, Neil?" he said with more composure than he felt.

"I don't mean to get like, heavy, right, and interrupt...whatever it is you're doing, right, but Scooby Doo is on in like, five minutes and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind maybe moving over a bit and letting someone else on the sofa?"

Vyvyan stomped over to the hallway, grabbed the sofa (with a very bewildered Rick still on it) by the arm and dragged it in front of the television. He tipped it forward until Rick tumbled onto the ground and dropped it back into place.

"All yours, Neil," he smiled and gestured to the now empty seat.

"Great, thanks Vyv."

Neil sat down and changed the channel, ignoring that Rick was still lying at his feet. When Rick finally got the presence of mind to sit up, Vyvyan was nowhere to be seen. He stood up and assessed the damage. His clothes seemed to be intact, so that was something, although his shirt was un-tucked, and that was certainly less dignified than he preferred. He turned away quickly and made certain his trousers were closed. They were, and for a fleeting moment he was impressed with Vyvyan's dexterity. His hair felt a bit mussed, he was going to have to change his pants, and that last bite on the neck was still sore, but (he hoped) all in all it seemed he could cover fairly well until he got into his room.

"Erm, Neil," he said, picking at his own fingers and looking absolutely anywhere but at Neil, "It really isn't very important, and it really doesn't matter anyway, but er, haha," the laugh was unconvincing even to himself, "What did you actually see just now? Not that there was anything to see, because there wasn't, I just mean what-"

"Oh, don't worry Rick, I didn't see you and Vyvyan snogging at all," Neil said, shielding his head just in case.

"Well _good_ because we _weren't_ , Neil. We most definitely were _not_ snogging and I think it's disgusting that you would ever say such a thing, just _disgusting_!"

"Sorry, Rick."

"Yes, well you had better be! And it's not as if anybody actually cares about you or believes anything you say anyway, _Neil_. So...you know, don't bother telling anyone or anything." Neil didn't reply and Rick knew an exit when he saw one, "Well, I..er-I have to see a…?"

Rick sprinted up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door behind him. He was greeted by a disturbingly patient-looking Vyvyan, sitting on his bed and staring at the door.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM, VYVYAN?"

"Wasn't finished," he said, smirking.

"Well what the HELL do you think you're doing a _ttacking_ me like that?" Rick stayed by the door, "And then leaving me downstairs to cover damage control to a bloody hippie?"

"I didn't attack you," Vyvyan said, in a calm and rational tone Rick found irritating and unnerving, "I kissed you. If I'd attacked you, it would've hurt."

" _Well what the bloody hell are you doing kissing me_!?"

"You liked it," Vyvyan crossed his arms and looked away, "You said so."

"I did _not_! I was in _shock_. Why would I like it? I like _girls_ , Vyvyan, everybody knows that!"

"Could have fooled me," he muttered, glaring at the wall, "Poof."

"Look, just get out, JUST GET OUT OF MY ROOM!"

"NO!"

"FINE!" Rick stormed over to his dresser, "Turn around or something, I have to find my bank-"

"Third drawer, back right corner," Vyvyan said, "Dunno why you bother, you've only got two pounds fifty."

"VYVYAN, THERE WAS NEARLY TWENTY QUID IN THERE!"

"Was," Vyvyan shrugged, "Now there's two pounds fifty."

"BASTARD!" Rick threw the drawer open dramatically and got the rest of his money. He slammed the drawer just as dramatically and stomped toward the door, where he paused and whirled on his heels.

"I'm going to the shops, Vyvyan, and you'd better be gone when I get back!"

"Or what?"

Rick sputtered and searched for an answer before settling on, "Augh! I hate you!" and storming out.

Vyvyan looked puzzled and put his chin in his palm. That wasn't what was supposed to happen at all. They were supposed to shag now that they both knew they wanted each other. That was how it worked on telly, at any rate. Why was the poof writing bloody poetry about him if he didn't really want him? He'd kissed the bastard, hadn't he? What else was he supposed to do?

He headed to his own room, closing Rick's door behind him without looking back. This romance thing was bloody difficult. He was going to have to think about this. And if thinking didn't work, he was going to have to take extremely drastic action; he was going to have to ask Mike for advice.

****

Rick returned to his room about an hour after Vyvyan had left it. He realized he might have overreacted, but was still glad to find his room empty. It had been a very demanding experience, being unexpectedly snogged like that, and by Vyvyan no less. He tried to write a poem about it, but the words wouldn't come. He found his diary on the floor and looked for The Page, the one he'd ~~planted~~ written the poem about Vyvyan on months ago. It was gone.

'Shit,' he thought, 'Shit, shit, shit.'

He was grateful that he had already burned the page(s) with all the hearts and flowers and Vyvyan's name written over and over in various calligraphic fonts. But he'd left the poem – he was proud of it. He hurled the diary across the room and threw himself onto his bed. Why had he written it at all? Why did he feel the need to put it on paper like that? He knew Vyvyan would be looking for it, he knew he'd find it eventually, how could he be so stupid?

'Shit, shit, shit, shit.'

Well, the inevitable happened. Vyvyan had finally figured it out. Except it seemed he wasn't altogether averse to the idea. Rick had expected a beating. Possible banishment from the house. Public humiliation. Martyrdom. This reaction hadn't even occurred to him.

He decided to skip supper.

He lay awake for hours that night, turning the events over and over in his mind. He was finally presented with incontrovertible evidence that he definitely might, maybe, possibly, actually be gay and he wasn't sure he wanted to process that tonight. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to process it. But he had to. Because the person who forced him to face it lived next door and he had a key to every one of Rick's locks. Why hadn't he ever changed them?

So he'd kissed a boy…and he'd liked it. A lot. But that couldn't be right. He'd liked lots of girls…he thought. He liked looking at the girls in Cosmo, their pretty makeup and nice fashion. He'd fancied Sarah Thorpe in secondary school. She was a tomboy, the school's first female rugby captain, and actually a bit of a bully. She dragged him into the girl's bathroom once, laughing hysterically as he ran out in a panic, shielding his eyes and shrieking. She had a pretty laugh.

So what if he'd been thinking about Vyvyan a lot lately? So what if he'd only ever once held hands with a girl, and it really wasn't very pleasant? So what if the thought of actually touching a woman's private parts held a healthy dose of disgust along with the curiosity?

"Come off it, Rick," he muttered begrudgingly, "You're not even convincing yourself anymore."

Of course he bloody liked it. He'd been kissed, snogged, fondled even. His first ever real snogging session (his first ever real kiss of any kind, if he wanted to get down to it), and it had ended so badly. He was mortified that Neil had caught them, although he fully blamed Vyvyan for that. What was he thinking, jumping on him like that where everyone could see them? It was just like Vyvyan to be so thoughtless.

Vyvyan. What a bewildering person. He'd spent the whole time they'd known each other trying to beat Rick half to death (usually for no reason at all that Rick could think of), and now suddenly he wanted to play house. Rick had spent so much time obsessing over him the past few months that the prospect of actually doing something about it was a little frightening. It was a little frightening while it was happening, actually. The whole time he wasn't sure if Vyv was going to kiss or hit. He was so unpredictable; the thought of allowing him free access to his nethers sounded, on its face, like guaranteed castration.

All the same, in practice it was quite nice while it lasted. If only it had lasted a little longer, he might have actually felt someone else's bare hand on his willy.

****

Rick was noticeably absent at breakfast the next morning. It was so quiet they could hear the dishes growing cultures in the sink (actual cultures, none of this single-celled organism stuff. Neil was fairly sure there was a sports stadium inside one of the larger pots, and there was a full-scale war going on between the butter dish and the gravy boat). It was a relief for Vyvyan, who had spent an entire night thinking instead of sleeping, and hadn't come up with anything mildly resembling a solution.

"Michael, may I speak to you in private?" Vyvyan asked offhand as he moved the last of his lentils around his plate with one finger.

"Of course, Vyv, anything you like," Mike said, folding his newspaper and setting it down.

"Good, one moment."

Vyvyan grabbed the nearest frying pan and whacked Neil over the head with it. The hippie slid, unconscious, under the table and Vyvyan tossed the pan behind him. It landed on SPG who croaked, "Nearly missed, you ruddy bastard!" before collapsing.

"That should do it. Now," he took a deep breath before continuing, "I've er...I've met this…bird, right?" He kept his gaze firmly on his hands and his voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Ahhh, I see," Mike nodded sagely, "Wisdom from the master. Well you've come to the right man, Vyvyan my lad. Lay it on me. As a wise man once said, better to ask he who knows then end up with a kick in the arse."

"Right, well er, so I fancy her – I mean, she drives me sort-of batty and sometimes I want to smash her teeth in – lots of times, actually, but…I really, really fancy her – anyway, I tried to make a move on her and I thought she wanted me to at first, but then she told me off and now I think she's avoiding me."

"Ah yes, I know that one well," Mike paused, then shook his head, "I mean, I've heard about it. From other, less cool people. Anyway, doesn't matter. Look, you've got to take it slow with some chicks, yeah? Now you're a friend and compatriot, Vyvyan, and I don't want you to take this badly, but you can be a bit intimidating to the right sort."

"Can I?" Vyvyan looked confused for a moment, then grinned, "Oh yeah, of course I can. But how do you not be intimidating?"

"Well Vyvyan, that's not something to ask a man of my stature. But I'll try to remember what some of my less intimidating friends have told me."

Vyvyan leaned in, eager to gain new insight. Mike leaned in as well, glad to finally be appreciated around the house. They whispered conspiratorially for a while, and Vyvyan stood up looking emboldened, but still nervous.

"Right. Keep it casual, be myself, but be nice (that'll be a tough one), and don't come on too strong. I'll remember that, thanks Mike," he headed for the stairs.

"Sure thing," Mike went back to his paper, but called behind him, "Oh, and Vyvyan?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell him you like his poetry."

Vyvyan's face brightened, "Oh yeah, great idea Mike, brilliant!"

He climbed the stairs beaming from ear to ear, and what Mike had actually just said didn't occur to him until he was just outside Rick's door.

****

"Nice one, Mike," Neil said as he climbed out from under the table, nursing his sore head, "But how could you tell he was talking about Rick?"

Mike set down his paper authoritatively. "Well, it's obvious, Neil. A master in the art of love always knows these things, and those two have been chasing each other around like a couple of school-kids pulling pigtails the entire time they've known each other. The details work themselves out. Bit of a surprise, really, my money said they were already- hang on, how did _you_ know he was talking about Rick?"

Neil looked around nervously before leaning in and whispering, "They were, like, _practically_ _doing it_ on the sofa yesterday."

"Well there you are then," Mike said confidently and went back to his paper. Neil shrugged and went out to the garden to check on his herbs and consider reupholstering the sofa.

****

Rick had spent the morning in bed, depressed and unable to shake the feeling that he'd completely ruined any chance he might have had for a decent shag. He also felt vaguely guilty and rather stupid for having yelled at Vyvyan like that. He really _did_ like it (he was finally able to admit, after hours of fighting himself over it) and he really _did_ want more.

A knock at his door tore him from his thoughts and he all but jumped out of bed to put on something other than skivvies.

"Who's there?" he called, fairly sure he knew the answer.

"Open the door, you girl!"

He buttoned his fly and opened the door just slightly. Vyvyan held the missing diary page through the crack so Rick could read it.

"Can I come in?"

Rick snatched the page from Vyvyan's hand and opened the door quickly, "Yes, yes, just hurry up, the others will see you."

Vyvyan slipped in and Rick slammed the door behind him. Then they stood awkwardly, not quite looking at one another, before sitting side-by-side on Rick's bed and staring off in different directions just as awkwardly.

"So you read it, did you?" Rick asked quietly, staring down at his shoes through the crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

"Yep," Vyvyan said unenthusiastically, staring down at his fidgeting fingers. They lapsed back into silence.

After a bit, Rick tried again, "What did you, er-"

"Oh, I liked it. I liked how it…ended," Vyvyan said in a nervous, wavering voice. He cleared his throat and leaned back against the corner of the wall in what he hoped was a casual pose. "And that one you did last week, about how the river's all polluted…? It…didn't make me want to kill myself…nearly as much as usual." He cleared his throat again.

Rick widened his eyes and shrugged, "Well, er- that's…good? Isn't it? Er-" he glanced over at Vyvyan and then quickly shifted back to the floor.

Again, conversation stopped. After what felt like forever to both of them, Rick gave an exasperated sigh.

"Look, Vyvyan, do you like me?"

"I hate you."

"Okay, well, yes. But you kissed me. Well, more than kissed me, actually. And I've really been thinking about it, and hasn't there been something going on for a while now? Like the other day when we were downstairs watching telly, and you kept pressing your leg against mine on purpose-"

"This is boring," Vyvyan said, sitting up on his knees and pulling Rick forward by his shirt.

"Vyvyan, listen to m-"

Vyvyan kissed him soundly, pulled away and smirked at him.

"No talking," he said and leaned in for more. When their lips met, in one swift motion, he pushed Rick onto his back until they were lying chest to chest, wrapped an arm around Rick's back and pulled him close. He wrapped his tongue around Rick's, and bit his lip a little.

Rick shut up.

**Author's Note:**

> The very last line in this fic is very similar to one in this very fandom, posted on this very archive. Believe me when I say, that was not intentional. It must just be a great line. ;)


End file.
